


Sam Of The Jungle

by cellard00rs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But not real Wincest 'cause they are kinda not related, Crack, Crowley is a talking ape, Fluff, George Of The Jungle!AU, Lions, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Wincest - Freeform, apes, birds oh my, don't forget the crack, no really i'm not joking, the Jungle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1376395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George Of The Jungle!AU. Wherein Dean Winchester gets lost in the jungle and comes face to face with a wild man who is dead set on making him his mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Of The Jungle

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, let me just start off and say I can't believe this is my first Supernatural fic.
> 
> I'm sort of face palming at it and hoping you all don't think it's awful but my friends were all about me posting it here.
> 
> ANYWAY - I just recently watched the 1997 George Of The Jungle (with a very hunky Brendan Fraser) for the first time. I made an off handed remark that I could probably change some things around and make a pretty fun, cracktacular Supernatural fic. Hence the story before you. I wanted to think of a better, much more meaningful title but decided to just do a 'what-it-says-on-the-tin' type of deal.
> 
> I'd like to toss out I'm normally much more of a Sastiel fan but this seemed much more suited to Wincest (even though Sam and Dean are not actually related here) and god knows, Crowley would be a smart-ass talking monkey.
> 
> And also, you know, any excuse to write smut.
> 
>  
> 
> ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

If anyone’s to blame it’s Bobby.

Or maybe his father.

Or maybe both.

And Bela, _definitely_ Bela. He likes her, but Bela is definitely one to blame.

After all, she was the one hot to trot to come out to this godforsaken jungle. And for what? Some possibly rare and priceless trinket that they were never going to find anyway in this vast, stinkin’ hot, gross-ass jungle. 

But then his father had been the one to push him in Bela’s direction and it had been Bobby who had encouraged him to ‘make it work’ and to ‘try and share in her interests’ and so this is how Dean Winchester finds himself out in the middle of this freakin’ ass _jungle._

And it is a jungle in every single definition of the word. First of all there are _vines_. Friggin’ mossy vines everywhere – hanging down from the sky and all over the ground and wrapped around trees. And the trees are lumbering monsters that rise up and up into the sky, their leaves making a green canopy that shadows everything and you would think the shadows would be nice and cool but no, it’s _hot_. So hot that Dean is coated all over in a light sheen of sweat, his scalp wet with it and he’s practically panting like a dog, trying to find some relief.

Then there are the weird sounds – animals cooing and cawing and insects making a god-awful racket and Bela, damn her; is as cool as a cucumber. She strides through the place like she owns it, machete in hand, hacking and slicing her way through to make a trail and Dean follows diligently behind her, wishing he was anywhere else.

Or at least he _had_ been until he trips over another goddamn vine and finds himself lost. Lost because Bela charged on and hadn’t even noticed him trip. Apparently didn’t even hear the loud grunt and curse he released when he collapsed and he would be super pissed about it, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s a bit trepidatious about being left behind.

Now Dean is no coward by any means but he is also no fool. He’s out in the middle of nowhere with no guide and after he gets up he tries to follow the haphazard trail but it isn’t enough. He sees neither hide nor hair of her for over an hour and it’s sincerely starting to worry him. Not only for his sake but for hers. Being separated and alone in the jungle isn’t good or safe for either one of them and he starts periodically calling out – hoping against hope that she can hear him.

And that’s probably how he gets the lion’s attention. And not just any lion but a big ass, honkin’ HUGE one that growls and roars and has friggin’ fangs that look hungry for his blood. And so, with all this having happened to him, it makes perfect sense for Dean to try and think of someone to blame because he sure as hell doesn’t want to blame himself when he is probably only minutes away from his death.

The lion snarls and edges closer and Dean feels his back meet with a thick tree. His mind scrambles, trying to think of a way out of this situation, a way to stave the beast off but nothing comes to mind. Before this jungle fiasco he merely worked in his father’s auto shop. It was a decent wage, a decent life. The most outrageous thing he had ever done had been to drink too much and drive too fast (and God, if he makes it out of this he promises to give his Impala a big wet kiss of appreciation and never, ever endanger his baby ever again) and yeah he has gone hunting before but that had been for deer, not big game.

Big game that is now eyeing him with hungry yellow eyes and just when he thinks the creature might pounce a savage war cry bellows out above them. Dean turns and hears branches above him creaking and groaning and then something comes charging down, swift as lightning. Whatever it is, it is big and fast and strikes out at the lion with a vicious efficiency that takes Dean’s breath.

The lion roars as it is tackled by what Dean, at first, mistakes for a giant ape. Initially all he glimpses is tanned skin and dark tufts of hair, a coat of mud and soot and an ape is the only thing that makes any logical sense. Until the creature rolls the lion over, damn near mounting it and Dean’s eyes widened in alarm as he realizes that the long limbs of his savior are far too human to be that of an ape.

It’s a man.

A big man.

A man who is wrestling with a lion as if he is nothing more than an unruly kitten. A kitten with ginormous paws and sharp teeth that gnash and this guy, this _jungle_ guy, has the audacity to _laugh_. He’s _laughing._ Dean can see a flash of white teeth as the man laughs and struggles with the lion. _Plays_ with it almost and eventually the lion seems to loosen up, to actually act the part of tamed house cat.

Dean watches, totally stunned, as the lion lets out an odd yowl and shakes his head. The jungle guy laughs again and pulls something from his – oh my god – is he wearing a _loincloth_? An honest-to-god loincloth?

It certainly appears to be one. It is made of ragged brown leather and clings tenaciously to his slender hips. And holding it in place is a coil of dark braided rope and attached to that is a sack, one which he loosens and removes a large hunk of raw meat from. He tosses it to the lion, who snatches it up in his powerful jaws. He shakes it once then lets out a mewling sound before disappearing into the brush.

This leaves Dean alone with the jungle man, who turns to him with his head cocked to one side. The jungle man crouches down low on all four like a gorilla and cautiously comes forward. Dean, who at some point had sank down to sit on the ground, finds himself face to face with his odd rescuer.

Dean opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out. Instead his lips flap uselessly as the jungle man eases forward until his nose is inches from Dean’s forehead. He takes in a loud lungful of air and his eyes close, looking almost blissful.

Dean feels a silly moment of flattery at the action, idly thinking that he must smell pretty damn good, only to snap back to reality, finding his voice at long last, “Okay, um…not that I don’t appreciate the save but you’re…what? Tarzan?”

The jungle man’s head tilts from one side to the other, his shaggy dark hair moving with the action and Jesus, how could someone so sweaty and dirty also look so amazing? Really, jungle man looks like he’s just stepped out of a strange underwear ad. He’s beautifully sculpted. All sinewy muscles and too many abs to count and big shoulders and Dean is not gay, not even a little bit, until – well – maybe this _exact_ moment because - hot damn – jungle man is good looking.

Dean tries again, “Do you, uh, _have_ a name? Or is it just a grunt sound? A hoot maybe?”

Jungle man breathes in Dean’s hair again, grins and, rocks back on his heels. Dean rolls his eyes. Clearly jungle man is brave and strong but none too bright. He points to himself, “My name is Dean. And you are?”

Jungle man’s eyes narrow in confusion.

“Do you speak English? I mean, probably not, the way you dress. ‘Cause I figure if you spoke even a little English someone would have told you to put some damn pants on instead of this loincloth getup you have going on but, you know, just kinda hoping for a little luck here ‘cause the way my day’s been going some luck would be-”

Jungle man puts a gentle finger to Dean’s mouth to silence him. Dean’s head rears back, slightly insulted by the obvious ‘shut up’ gesture until jungle man speaks in a deep baritone, “Sam.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, “Sam?”

Jungle man presses his fists to his chest, “Sam,” then presses them to Dean’s, “Dean.”

“Yeah…yeah, okay. So, you _do_ speak English?”

“English,” Sam grunts, and then nods, “Some.”

“Okay,” Dean draws the word out, “Well, good; good. Could you, uh, I mean – I know this is a lot to ask but could you help me out some more? I need to get home.”

“Home. Home. Home.” Sam repeats again and again, rolling the word around as if he’s tasting it. He nods abruptly, “Home.”

He quickly skitters up a tree with an agility that makes Dean unspeakably jealous and just when Dean starts to think he has been abandoned Sam swings down on one of the many vines hanging from the trees.

He sways back and forth for a few moments and Dean is so awestruck by it that he finds himself completely unprepared for what happens next – which is Sam snatching him beneath his armpits and yanking him up as if he weighs nothing. Dean lets out a string of obscenities as he is manhandled until, much to his horror, he finds himself clinging to Sam’s back and high, high up on a vine.

How Sam manages to scale the vine while rearranging Dean will probably forever remain a mystery because Dean’s mind has no time to grasp it before they start swinging – _flying_ – from one vine to the next and Dean’s eyes seal tightly shut as they move with a breakneck pace through the trees.

Again, Dean is no coward but he is smart enough to know if he keeps his eyes open he will be squealing like a little girl. And he’ll be damned if he’ll give jungle man the satisfaction. He can just imagine another one of those cocky smiles on his face. On his rather attractive face and dammit, with everything else going on the last thing Dean needs is a sexual identity crisis!

He tries to empty his mind and lose himself in the rush and thrill of moving so quickly and, much to his surprise, once he chooses to do so it is actually pretty easy. 

Like sailing along a long stretch of highway in his Impala. 

Beautiful.

 

+

 

Sam feels Dean smile against his shoulder and grins.

He has never seen a _real_ man before. But then, he only recently came to the revelation that he himself is a man. For the longest time he had thought himself an ape like his brother, Crowley.

Sure, he had always known he looked different but he had never once thought he was a completely different creature. He had just thought he was a hairless ape. He was positive that underneath all that black hair Crowley must look similar to him. But several moons ago he had finally worked up the nerve to ask Crowley if such a thing was true and Crowley had laughed almost worse than any hyena.

“No, you silly boy. You’re a _man_ ,” Crowley had stressed the word, “Not an ape. Though I will admit, for a long time I rather thought you might be a moose.”

“Moose?”

“Hmm, yes. Large, lumbering creatures. You quite resemble one but your overall carriage is that of a man. They’re not many men around our parts of the jungle. They live farther out in the wastelands. You would not ever wish to step into such a dreadful place. They’re completely lacking in sophistication. No birds, no trees, no fresh streams, no elephants, no apes, nothing. Awful.”

Sam scowled and nodded, “Sounds awful.”

Crowley hummed in agreement, “But you’ll have to venture there soon enough, I’d wager.”

Sam sat upright, startled, “No! Not ever! Why would I go to such a place?”

“For a mate, of course.”

Sam scoffed, “I don’t need a mate.”

“Everyone needs a mate.”

“ _You_ don’t have a mate.”

“Not _one_ , no,” Crowley chuckled, “I’ve have _plenty_ of mates. Not one alone has suited. But men, or so is my understanding, tend to stick to one mate. The good ones at least.”

“How do you know this?”

Crowley waved lazily to a stack of books and magazines behind him, “I’ve read as such in the tomes left in the very same crash that brought you here. Not to mention I have scouts that bring me new material. It’s damnably easy to bribe vermin into traveling into the wastelands and get them to bring back what men consider to be refuse.”

Sam looked at the books and magazines and then shook his head,” I don’t care what they say. I’m not going into the wastelands for a mate.”

Crowley shrugged, “Suit yourself but I tell you, once mating season sets in you’ll be dying for one.”

Sam had thought Crowley mad but once the heat sun had set in in his later years he had felt a peculiar itch beneath his skin. He had felt it long ago when he had first matured but as time wore on it grew worse and worse. It was also not helped by witnessing many of his animal friends give in to their own urges. Many of them paired off and made families while Sam remained resolutely alone.

Finally, cracking under the pressure, he had given in to one of Crowley’s many suggestions – he had started to check out the many vast volumes of books and magazines Crowley had collected. It was here that he first glimpsed other men. They looked very much like him and, in a way; it was a relief to see similar creatures.

True, they wore strange furs and coats that pretty much covered them from head to toe, but overall they had features like his own. He had also seen his first woman and Crowley had patiently explained that women were another, and well documented, superior addition to the human species. They were considered men’s counterparts and were often chosen as a man’s mate.

“Though my studies have shown that a man, such as yourself, can chose another man if he so wishes. Women too, can choose other women. It’s quite fascinating and not all that different from what is offered here in the jungle.”

Sam had not had much thoughts as to which he would prefer. In fact, he was still not wholly convinced he needed a mate at all. Sure, there was the peculiar itch but he could take care of it himself and he had Crowley for companionship. And as for offspring, he already had so many creatures to care for as family he truly felt no need to produce children of his own.

And the wastelands…gods, he did _not_ want to travel there.

But then he had found the one named Dean being attacked by Shebara.

Shebara’s hunger was Sam’s fault. The lion was more than capable of feeding himself but Sam had promised him a treat in the very spot Dean had wandered into. No doubt Shebara had thought Dean the treat. Not that Sam could blame him. 

Dean smells fantastic. 

To Sam he carries an aroma that resembles that of the wild flowers that grow by the waterfall’s edge but perhaps to Shebara his scent was more appetizing, hence the almost dinner he had nearly become. Sam is glad he intervened when he did because as Dean clings to him Sam’s heart races and he starts to rethink the whole mate debacle.

Dean is a nice man to look upon and, if Sam can brush up on what little English Crowley has taught him, he might even prove to be a good talking confidant. Sam can see no reason why Dean can’t stay and be his mate. It would certainly make things much easier for himself and who knew? Perhaps Dean had traveled away from the wastelands looking for a mate himself. Maybe he had become disenchanted with what little the wasteland had to offer and had made the decision (quite a clever one, really) to seek a better life in the jungle.

Sam can give him a better life.

Sam can be his mate.

With this happy thought, Sam picks up his pace and moves faster through the brush.

 

+

 

When they finally stop moving and Dean’s head stops spinning he sees something new to leave him speechless.

It’s treehouse.

No, wait, that’s inaccurate.

It’s goddamn _treemansion._

It’s hard to believe the structure before him truly exists. Maybe this is some joke. Some massive prank. Maybe there are hidden cameras somewhere. Any second now some cheesy announcer will come out and announce that Dean is a world class idiot because there is no way such a dwelling could exist without the intervention of a construction crew.

Sam lowers Dean to the ground (and boy is _that_ embarrassing – Dean has been clinging to Sam’s massive back and Dean is by no means a small man but Sam is a friggin’ _giant_ ) and crouches down again. He lets out an animalistic howl and out from the treemansion comes one of the biggest apes Dean has ever seen.

And this _is_ an ape. A proper ape with massive quantities of black fur but an uncanny intelligence in its eyes. One that became a million times more disturbing when it speaks and with a fucking _British_ accent, “Sam? Who is this?”

“Holy shit.” Dean breathes.

Sam jerks his head from one to the other, “Dean, this Crowley. Crowely, Dean.”

“Dean,” Crowley comes closer and eyes him suspiciously, “I’d say it’s a pleasure but Sam didn’t tell me to expect guests.”

“Holy shit.” Dean repeats.

“No plan to bring him,” Sam mutters and runs a hand through his thick mane of hair, “Shebara try to eat him.”

“You stopped that, I take it?”

Sam nods, “I bring here. Home. Dean ask for home.”

Crowley lets out a weary sigh, “While I was not present, I am quite sure he meant his _own_ home, you big moose.”

“You told me I no moose.”

Crowley laughs, “True, but I’ve thought of you as one for so long now that it’s a bit hard to just toss off,” he turns his attentions back to Dean, “Are you alright? You look a bit…peaked.”

“Holy shit.” Dean breathes again.

Sam frowns and rises up to his full height once more. He lightly nudges Dean’s shoulder, “Broken?”

“B-broken?”

“You say same thing over and over.”

“It’s shock,” Crowley says succinctly, “Men are not used to hearing an ape speak. Much less the Queen’s English.”

“Who is Queen? Is her English different?” Sam asks and Crowley ignores him, continuing, “Don’t be alarmed, Dean. You’d be surprised which animals can speak English. We just tend not to converse with humans. After all, your lot is _terribly_ inane.”

“You…can talk?”

“I believe we’ve established that.”

Dean takes another deep breath and wonders whether or not he is going to faint. He shakes his head a couple of times and rubs at his eyes. He tries again, “I…heard you speak?”

Crowley growls in annoyance, “You did.”

“Am I…dead?”

“No.”

“Crazy?”

“Possibly,” Crowley pats Sam on the back, “If it makes you feel any better, Samuel is not far off.”

Sam glares at him, “I not crazy.”

“I _am_ not crazy,” Crowley returns, “We’ve talked about this. Don’t be lazy when you speak. “

Sam huffs before nodding and turning back to Dean. He waves at the treemansion behind him, “This home.”

“It’s true,” Crowley says, “He lives here. Why he needs so much finery is beyond me. He has far more rooms than he could ever possibly need; not to mention the furnishings but they were leftover from the plane so maybe its nostalgia.”

“Plane?” Dean asks and Crowley elaborates, “Crashed down several moons ago. I was quite young then. Sad to say my own family was long dead and gone by that time. I was on my own when I wandered into that mess. I won’t go into the gory details but suffice it to say there was not much left – save a young thing. It was alive so I took it with me and found some more maternal apes to raise him. Once he was older it became just him and me, brothers we are. Hence why I live a few trees away. Never know when he’ll need my sage advice.”

Sam grins, “Crowley helpful.”

“Well, you certainly _need_ help.” Crowley mutters, shaking his head, “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. The sun is almost down, Dean, so it would not be advisable for Sam to take you home now. Tomorrow will be best, if you think you can survive one night in the jungle.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to glare at him, “I’m stronger than I look, you big ape!”

“Really? ‘Cause I could have sworn you almost swooned when I opened my mouth,” Crowley offers over one shoulder as he saunters away.

“I did _not_ almost swoon!” Dean shouts after him before turning to see Sam looking at him with…well, it was hard to say. Sam’s expression was something of a cross between thoughtful and admiring. And for whatever reason it’s making Dean’s skin heat. Particularly in his cheeks. Oh god, is he…blushing?

Could this day get any weirder? Or worse?

Sam walks over to the thick trunk of the treemansion and yet again climbs it as if it were nothing. He then lowers down a makeshift ladder that Dean looks at with trepidation. Sam gives him a warm smile, “No worry. Safe. Use many times.”

Dean tugs on the ladder and, finding it sturdy, he lugs himself up. Once inside Sam draws the ladder back up and puts it away. Dean looks around the treemansion in wonder. There are actual pictures up on the walls and various pieces of furniture – a table, a wayward chair – and then there are the odd trinkets. An old basketball, a fedora, a spoon, some seashells and books.

Sam reaches out and takes Dean’s hand. Dean immediately draws it back, startled, and Sam frowns, shooting him big, sad puppy dog eyes; “Sorry. Just…wanted to show you…”

Dean swallows thickly, “Yeah, yeah. Um…well, I-I guess.”

He holds his hand out and Sam gladly takes it in a firm, warm grip. He leads Dean from one room to the next and in clipped words points out this or that. There is a room where Sam merely sits and another where he thinks and another where he draws. There is a room for eating and a room for Crowley to teach him this and that and then, then there is his bedroom.

With a bed.

An honest to god actual _bed._

Dean doesn’t even want to begin to speculate on how Sam has managed to get a bed. Much less a bed with a golden metal frame and white fluffy pillows and sheets and who the hell cleans this stuff and keeps it so nice looking?

Dean’s thoughts once again circle back to the possible television prank theory (I mean, for god’s sake the talking ape alone…) when he suddenly notices that Sam is close. Very close. His nose buried in Dean’s hair close.

Sam’s chest is pressed to Dean’s back and Dean’s shirt has long since become damn near transparent with sweat, making it feel as if nothing is between them as Sam yet again breathes him in, “Smell good.”

Dean swallows thickly and knows he should be insulted or freaked out or anything – ANYTHING – but slightly aroused. Aroused. Jesus Christ. He is crazy. Crazy because he feels his lower anatomy stir to life and he mentally tries to command it to calm the fuck down as he slowly turns to face Sam, “Uh, look…”

“I am looking,” Sam says softly, his eyes locking on Dean’s and shit, a jungle man should not have deep, dark soulful eyes and they should most definitely not be drifting downwards to settle on Dean’s mouth.

Dean licks his lips and tries to remember what the hell he is going to say when suddenly one of Sam’s large hands cup his face and draws him closer, his own tongue darting out to touch Dean’s, to trace his lips and skirt inside and Dean hears himself moan before he manages to gently push Sam away.

Sam frowns and Dean lets out a choked breath, “Whoa, ho, hooookay, look. Look, I am, uh. Not…not going to…ah, that is - I am…grateful, that you saved me but I have a wom-that is to say, I am involved with someone and can’t really, you know, ah, kiss random jungle ape men.”

Sam looks infinitely sadder, “You have mate?”

“Mate?” Dean returns and shakes his head, “No, but-”

“Good,” Sam says eagerly and once more takes Dean’s face in his hands, slanting his lips across Dean’s.

Dean lets out a muted objection and his hands rise up once more but this time, instead of doing what they are damn well supposed to, they cling to Sam’s arms and then work their way up into his hair, his fingers tangling in the shaggy mess and Sam has obviously never kissed anyone before. He is far too sloppy and too eager and really, Dean should be totally turned off and Sam is a MAN and he is supposed to be _not_ gay but his damn body (especially the lower half) doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck. 

In fact his cock is starting to damn near ache as Sam huffs against his mouth and he draws back, planting kisses all over his face, his hands going for Dean’s shirt and tugging at it, popping buttons off left and right. 

“Oh shit,” Dean breathes out raggedly, “Can’t…Christ, I can’t let you-let you… _savage_ me in a goddamn treemansion in the middle of the jungle!”

“No?” Sam asks as his mouth goes to Dean’s neck and, shit, shit, shit – starts nibbling and biting and fuck, Dean is being fucking _marked_. He can feel it as Sam’s blunt teeth sink down and it hurts but it is also an unbelievable turn on that makes him groan, his voice in tatters, “Yes! I don’t-don’t know you. Don’t-don’t know a damn thing about you and you barely speak English!”

“English good enough,” Sam offers simply and Dean feels the cool night air ripple over his bare chest and his chest is bare, oh god, Sam has managed to work his shirt clean off! And then Sam is manhandling him again like he did earlier, pushing him back towards the massive bed and the moment the back of Dean’s knees meet the mattress he struggles, fighting back, “Look, okay, look – you need to stop.”

Sam stops and draws back slightly, his ‘I’m-far-too-fucking-cute’ face puzzled, “Why?”

“I told you! I don’t know you, you don’t know me, we just met and I’m with Bela.”

“You with a bell?”

“No, Bela. That’s her name.”

“But she not your mate?”

“I don’t have a mate.”

“I’m your mate,” Sam insists and takes one of Dean’s hands in his and presses it down to his loincloth and holy shit! Dean’s vision pixilates at the feel of the huge, rock-hard erection beneath his hand. Sam licks a silky wet stripe along Dean’s cheek, “I take you, make you mine. Us. Together.”

Dean shakes his head weakly, “Can’t…maybe-maybe you should, should think of me like Crowley…”

“Crowley my brother.”

“I-I could be your brother.”

“No,” Sam swears fervently, “Not brother. Not ape. You man. Like me. Mate.”

“Sam…Sammy…”

Sam gives him a warm grin, “No one call me that. Sammy. I like it. You call me Sammy from now on. Only you. Understand?”

Dean can feel himself shaking; his knees close to letting go as Sam gently runs his nose along Dean’s, “Bell girl make you feel like this?”

“N-No.”

“You…love her?”

“I…”

“I know about love,” Sam whispers against his mouth. He kisses him once, twice, then gasps, “I could give you. You could give me.”

Dean feels his eyes roll back into his head as his knees finally give way and he collapses on the mattress. And, of course, it’s unbelievably comfy. And he’s back to the ‘I-died’ theory. Only death could explain this. He has to be in heaven. A really strange heaven where a big, sexy man who somehow manages to dwarf him in size blankets him with his body and proceeds to kiss him breathless.

And then Sam is working his pants off and Dean doesn’t care if he’s alive or dead. All he cares about it getting his fucking pants off, like, yesterday. The pants and underwear beneath are soon a memory and Sam is hot over top of him and, of course, his loincloth is the easiest thing on planet earth to remove so now they’re both naked and hot and sticky and fuck, fuck, _fuck_ …

Dean has no idea what he’s doing and he can’t even begin to believe Sammy does when suddenly Sam’s moving down the very center of him, the tip of his nose and his tongue dancing over his belly button and his happy trail before outlining his hipbones and then there’s a hot gust of air over his throbbing cock and Dean’s not even sure he’s ever even seen it stand at this much attention. In fact he would be worried about the deep, rosy hue it’s taken on only he’s immediately distracted by Sam’s mouth taking him.

And not just a little of him. Oh no. ALL of him. Sammy the jungle man is deep throating him like some kind of pro and Dean is moaning and thrashing about like an eager whore for it, begging and fisting the sheets beneath him, hips jutting upwards and he should have more tact, more sensitivity because there’s no way Sam has done this before but if it bothers Sam he doesn’t show it. No, not at all because Sam is making these eager, happy sounds around his length, his tongue trailing and curling over every inch it can touch and then there is a warm palm cupping his straining balls, brushing them with just enough pressure that Dean feels his climax crash down on him like a freight train.

This seems to be enough to finally shock Sam, who draws back as Dean comes in hot, wet streams, some of the cum hitting him in the face and that’s enough to push Dean over again. Twice. Twice in a _row_. Dean’s not some randy teenager nor is he a girl who can sustain multiple orgasms but somehow he’s managed a back to back orgasm. Or maybe it was one really long one that spiked more than once but whatever it was it’s made him boneless and lightheaded and he sinks back down with a jagged breath.

Sam carefully turns him over and caresses the long planes of his back before rising up to rest the entire length of his body against Dean’s. Dean can feel Sammy’s own erection resting firmly between the taunt cheeks of his ass but Sam doesn’t enter him. Instead he kisses the tips of Dean’s ears and the hairline along the nape of his neck until Dean cranes his head so they can kiss one another again and Dean can taste himself in Sam’s mouth, making his once wilting cock start to stir.

Sam pulls away and hugs Dean close and Dean can feel Sam’s massive heart thundering in his chest. Dean feels like he’s finally caught his breath enough to speak, “That was un-fucking-believable.”

“That…good?”

Dean snorts, “Yeah, that ‘good’.”

“Mate now?”

Dean buries his face in the pillow and thinks about screaming. He should say ‘no’. He should think of Bela. He should think of Bobby. He should think of his Dad. Instead he thinks of Sam who is rubbing his hands gently up and down his sides. Sam who has had yet to be taken care of and yeah, the thing pressed into his ass is a monster sized cock and he should sure as shit be afraid but instead he feels excited and bold and he tips his ass back, moves his hips in a circle just to rub it against himself and Sammy – _his_ Sammy – whimpers.

“Not yet,” Dean returns, his voice such a throaty growl that it’s barely recognizable to his own ears. He rears back and gets on all fours, raising his ass up and he knows how he must look. But yet again, he doesn’t care. He’s no coward and he’s no fool but he wants this. Not just for himself but for Sammy and Sam pulls away and Dean hears him shuffling around and is not sure why until he feels something cool and wet against his asshole.

Dean looks over one shoulder and sees Sam has some strange looking cup and he is dipping all those long fingers into it, coating them before bringing them back to his opening again and working one digit in, followed by another and it stretches and sort of burns but it doesn’t hurt as much as Dean thought it would. He groans into the pillow and can’t help himself, “How-how do you know about this?”

“Crowley have many books. Many magazines,” Sam answers, “Some not fit for young.”

Dean can’t help but laugh, “Oh my god, you mean he has skin mags!”

“Not called skinmag. Penthouse, Playboy, Gay-”

“I get the idea,” Dean grunts as Sam fits in another finger and just when he is starting to wonder whether or not this is such a good idea Sam’s fingers turn and crook in such a way as to brush his prostrate. Dean lets out a string of colorful expletives and his body arches as he works back against the feel of those fingers, his cock once more a nice, thick erection.

“God, _yeah_! Baby, Sammy, oh shit, shit! _Fuck_! Sammy, Christ…”

Sam coats his hands once more and starts stroking his own length. Dean can see it out of the corner of his eye, can see Sam stroking the long, massive length of his erection and he quivers in anticipation, even more so when Sam cups his own balls and gives them a soft squeeze. Sam’s eyes meet his as he whispers, “I’m going to fill you.”

Dean lets out a weak cry and falls back against the bed, raising his ass higher as Sam mounts him, lining his cock up with Dean’s entrance. There are no false steps, Sam slides in deep and hard and Dean lets out an unrestrained shout. Fire laces through his veins and shoots up his spine and it fucking hurts a lot for the first few thrusts only to suddenly drop away and become so unbearably pleasurable that Dean feels as if he’s going to go blind with it.

His body begins to positively buck backwards into each thrust, eager to be taken and words start spilling out from Dean’s lips, things he thought he would never, in his entire life, say aloud. Gasps and grunts and begging. Dean crying out for Sam to give him more and more and to be harder and quicker and to just fucking fuck him, please, _god_ , fuck him right through the goddamn mattress.

And Sam is more animal than man, snarling and growling; his fingers like claws as they tear at Dean’s hair and his back and his shoulders. His teeth sink into his neck as he thrusts in deep and true again and again. And Dean is lost in it. Lost in the primal pleasure and then Sam’s hand finds his leaking erection, fingers focused on the sensitive head and he feels himself coming once more, painting the sheets beneath him just as Sam says his name in blissful reverence, his own orgasm rippling through him and Dean feels wetness starting to pool between his thighs and when he finally collapses to the bed he is quite positive he is never going to get up again.

 

+

 

The golden rays of sunlight filter in and Dean is sore.

He’s never been this sore before and as he slowly wakes he feels a warm, comforting pressure against his back. He turns to see Sam fast asleep and lets out a dreamy sigh. He settles back in the bed and wonders what in the hell he is supposed to do now. He had sex last night with a complete stranger. A complete _male_ stranger. A complete male stranger who is a jungle man and has a talking British ape friend/brother.

Dean runs a hand over his face and lets out a frustrated groan only to have his hand whisked away from him by Sam, who kisses and licks at his fingers, a goofy smile on his goofy face, “Good morning, mate.”

“Sammy…” Dean sighs and tries to think of what to say only to have Sam kiss him on the mouth. This kiss is much better than their first few kisses and its clear Sam is learning how to kiss from Dean’s example. Which is nice. And kind of hot. And oh lord, he is in _so_ much trouble.

Sam gets out of the bed and dresses quickly (considering all he has to put on is a loincloth) and he offers Dean his pants and torn shirt. Dean carefully rises from the bed, wincing at this and that as he carefully dresses. Sam disappears in a flash and leaves Dean to follow. Dean finds him outside and talking to Crowley.

Dean carefully lowers the ladder and comes down. He’s barely a foot away from Crowley when the ape loudly announces, “Ah! If it isn’t Sam’s new mate! You have a good time of it last night? Whole damn jungle heard you both!”

Dean’s face takes on a scarlet hue, “You’re lying.”

“Please. The wild romp you engaged in is the biggest news to hit the airwaves since Meg had her litter. For your own edification, birds are notorious gossips and they hear everything! Especially when someone with your lung capacity is screaming moose’s name at the top of his lungs. “

“I wasn’t…screaming…”

“Well, even if you weren’t, animals have better senses than humans. I can smell it on you. Should I take it that Sam doesn’t need to arrange travel home for you?”

Dean clears his throat and scratches at the back of his head, “I…well, I mean, that might be something we-we have to talk about.”

Sam’s head tips to one side and he has that goddamn sad look again that tears right at Dean’s heart, “You stay with your Sammy?”

Crowley shoots Dean a very pointed look and Dean sighs wearily, “Yes, Sammy. For now…yes.”


End file.
